Count
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Unsui is trying to count to twenty." Agon makes things difficult for Unsui.
Unsui is trying to count to twenty.

This isn't something with which he usually struggles. It would be a simple matter if he were sitting still, would be straightforward even if he were counting off straining repetitions of effort as he is now. It's not even the weight of another person crushing him down to the floor that is making the attempt so difficult; if it were anyone else balanced against the strain of his shoulders and the curve of his back, Unsui is certain he could master the basic task of counting to his twentieth pushup without error.

But.

"Seven," Agon drawls, slurring the word around the latest mouthful of whatever it is he's eating. Unsui can hear the crinkle of the wrapper collapse under Agon's hold; there's a shift in the other's weight as he arches his back in a stretch as much intended to make Unsui less comfortable as to make Agon more so. "Thirteen."

Unsui grits his teeth, blinks hard against the burn of agony across his shoulders and trembling in his arms. When he lowers himself to the floor it's as deliberate as it always is, a slow descent until his breathing echoes off the floor and hot against his face, until his nose is skimming the smooth surface underneath him. His arms flex, his shoulders ache, and the floor retreats again, his arms pushing himself and Agon back up to regain sacrificed inches of height.

 _Sixteen_.

"A hundred and two," Agon offers. A hand comes out, a palm drags rough over the top of Unsui's shaved head. "Negative four."

Unsui tips his head to the force, lets Agon's touch shove against his scalp as he counts off the few seconds of hesitation between one repetition and the next. Again the slow dip, the tremor of strain in his arms; the weight of Agon's hand at his head presses his nose to the floor, aches pressure against the cartilage before Unsui forces himself back up, gasping a lungful of air as he goes.

 _Seventeen_.

"Zero." A flick, the dig of a fingernail against the back of Unsui's head, a flash of white-hot pain as the impact catches and tears the skin. "Zero, zero, zero."

 _Eighteen_.

"This isn't any fun," Agon informs Unsui. Weight presses against Unsui's shoulders, Agon's hands spreading to brace over the shift of effort along Unsui's back. The forward tilt of Agon's weight is jarring and sudden enough that Unsui has to abort the descent he was starting and push himself back up before his arms collapse and fold under him. He breathes past the strain in his shoulders, blinks hard to clear the heat of sweat and the burn of white-hot pain from his vision as Agon shifts over him. "It's so _boring_. Is this what trash like you have to do to try to keep up with me?" Agon's hands dig into Unsui's shoulders, bearing the brunt of his weight as he tilts forward into a mockery of a push-up. His laughter is sharp, digging into the ache in Unsui's trembling arms like it's coming home. "Not that it'll do you any good."

Unsui shuts his eyes. There's nothing to see in front of him except for the sweat-spattered floor anyway. He bends his elbows and dips himself down in spite of the strain of protest across his shoulders and along his arms.

 _Nineteen_.

"You'll never be a genius." Unsui's chest aches. The pain in his arms is spreading down his spine, his entire body protesting the weight of his brother on his back. "You'll never catch up to me." When he takes a breath it feels like fire, like it's scorching a path into his lungs and crippling his ability to gain any assistance at all from the air around them. The salt of his sweat stings at the corners of his shut eyes. "What's the _point_?"

Unsui lowers himself again. His arms tremble, his chest aches; his head is spinning, everything in his body crying out for the support of the floor, telling him to drop himself to the ground and let the earth bear the burden of his body for a minute, for a second, for a heartbeat of relief. He gasps a breath, filling his lungs with fire reflected off the bare surface beneath him, and starts to push himself back up.

He only makes it halfway. His arms stall after a few inches of height, lock out at diagonals that refuse to straighten into the clean lines of success. His mind is chanting at him, _twenty, twenty, twenty_ , turning the last number into a mantra to overcome gravity, but all Unsui's arms do is shake and strain and stay still.

There's a pause. Even Agon is quiet, the sneer of his words given over to silence while Unsui fights for the last inch of height he needs to complete the set. Then there's a shift, Agon unfolding his legs, and Unsui wants to say _no_ , wants to say _stop_ , wants to say _wait for me, I can still do this_. But he lacks the air, and he lacks the words, and then Agon is standing and Unsui is coming up, his arms locking out to a full extension that means less than nothing.

"Nineteen," Agon says.

Unsui doesn't answer. He stays still, braced at the height of a pushup he didn't earn, elevation that he couldn't attain on his own. After a moment there's a painless impact at his shoulder, the foil of a crumpled wrapper hitting the sweat-slick of his skin and bouncing off, and then the sound of footsteps as Agon turns and walks towards the door.

Unsui waits until Agon is gone, leaving the door open in his wake to be closed by someone more considerate. Then he takes a breath, and folds his arms to lower himself to the floor once more.

 _One_.


End file.
